


Hide the Fact

by JPWard



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Belly Kink, Chubby Carlos, Insecurity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:56:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1976826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JPWard/pseuds/JPWard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil loves how Carlos carries a little extra weight on him, but Carlos is self-conscious about his stomach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hide the Fact

The second time Cecil sees Carlos, he calls him "perfect."

A perfect scientist with perfect hair and perfect teeth; natural brown skin kissed copper by the desert sun. Cecil loves how they contrast one another, his own pale skin more acclimated to the lights of the recording booth than the rays of the sun. And where Cecil is all straight lines, Carlos is soft, his body generous with curves. There are pockets of softness all over Carlos, but especially so on his stomach, the roundness hidden under his shirt and lab coat.

This is what Cecil likes the most.

 

What the white lab coat hides is revealed slowly, calculatingly, over their first few months together. Carlos is aware, self-consciously so, of the extra weight he carries, but Cecil makes it clear that he has no problem with how Carlos looks. With each layer shed, Cecil lavishes attention on what is uncovered. He discovers how the muscles of Carlos's arms are softened by an extra layer beneath his skin. He learns the thickness of Carlos's thighs and the ample curve of his bottom. And he sees, outlined beneath Carlos's white undershirt (the final piece of clothing that Carlos has been slow in removing), the contours of a substantial belly. It makes Cecil breathless.

They are kissing slowly on Carlos's couch the first time Carlos works up the courage to grasp the bottom of his t-shirt and pull it over his head, revealing the only flesh that has yet to be charted by Cecil's hands and mouth. The lovely, prominent swell of Carlos's stomach extends just enough beyond the top of his jeans for the slight overhang to be noticeable. Cecil's heart stutters at the sight.

"Carlos," Cecil breathes, and he reaches out to place his hands on Carlos' belly, feeling the gentle give of the softness there. His heart is hammering, and familiar warmth stirs in his groin. He doesn't think he's ever seen something so lovely, the way Carlos's midsection is filled out. But when he looks into Carlos's eyes, Carlos is frowning, and his shoulders are hunched.

"You're beautiful," Cecil tries to affirm too late.

"Not there," Carlos says, pushing Cecil's hands away, clearly uncomfortable.

"Carlos, no, you're - "

But Carlos shakes his head and cuts him off, "Cecil, please," his voice is firm but gentle, "I don't need you to tell me that you like how I look. I - I know you do. I just _really_ don't like my stomach, okay?"

Cecil feels a tinge of guilt and tries to extinguish the heat that had blossomed when he felt Carlos's belly mold to his fingers.

"Okay," Cecil says, and he gently places a hand on Carlos's cheek, "I'm sorry."

Carlos just kisses him and helps Cecil undo the buttons on his own shirt.

 

Cecil knows there are things that are hard to get rid of: wounds from old relationships, lover's hurtful words, things that time doesn't always heal or let you forget. He wants to tell Carlos just how much he loves him, every part of him, even his stomach (especially his stomach). But he doesn't know if Carlos will let him. The words would just sound like platitudes, or worse, a strange obsession. So he doesn't try to push.

Cecil is careful never to grope or let his eyes linger too long when Carlos takes off his shirt; he skips over that stretch of skin when he is kissing down Carlos's body or mapping it with his hands; and he doesn't say anything on the nights when Carlos doesn't remove his undershirt at all, embarrassed by his stomach bulging a little more than normal after a date at Big Rico's or Gino's.

Although Cecil is careful in hiding his attraction (the object of which he knows Carlos would not appreciate), his repressed desire sometimes boils over into noticeable arousal, though Carlos doesn't realize its cause.

Cecil remembers with stark clarity one night returning from a dinner at Big Rico's and seeing Carlos unbutton his plaid button down to reveal a stomach that stretched outward in its fullness, the cotton t-shirt straining over it. The heady rush of arousal that Cecil had felt was impossible to stop.

Cecil had backed Carlos against a wall and was already half hard as he begged Carlos to fuck him. Hands in Carlos's hair so they wouldn't drift to Carlos's belly, Cecil kissed along Carlos's jaw and neck, making noises that would embarrass him later when he remembered them.

"I, uh, I'm not really in top form right now, Cecil," Carlos had said, glancing a little worriedly at his belly, taut after their dinner.

Cecil groaned and kissed him harder, "I don't care, Carlos, please?"

How could he tell Carlos the truth?

But Carlos had obliged him, and Cecil can count on one hand the number of times he's come harder than he had that night, lying on his back and watching Carlos fuck him, Carlos's stomach hanging between them, white cotton damp with sweat and clinging to it beautifully. Cecil remembers Carlos sprawled out afterwards, his breath slowing, and his skin shining. He had been stunning, and Cecil's gaze had lingered, because Carlos's eyes were closed and he could not see, on the round protuberance of his belly.

But guilt clings to the memory and leaves a residue that makes the remembrance of the pleasure bitter.

 

They've been together almost a year, and asking for things in bed has begun to lose that awkward sense of embarrassment. (Carlos likes hair-pulling and dirty talk, and Cecil admits that he's enjoyed being blindfolded in the past.)

They're both delaying getting out of bed on a lazy Saturday morning, and Carlos is trying to get Cecil to ask for something new.

"C'mon, Cecil, there's got to be _something_ else," Carlos says playfully, nuzzling his face against Cecil's neck.

Cecil means to deny it, to ask instead what Carlos wants, but he hesitates. He thinks of his unfortunate proclivity for the roundness of Carlos's stomach, but he fears what Carlos will think if he tells him that he is aroused by a part of Carlos that Carlos himself hates. He'd rather let that fact go untold, but now he's paused too long in answering, and Carlos is looking at him with curiosity.

"What is it?"

"It's nothing."

"Cecil."

". . . I don't think you'll like what it is."

Carlos's brow creases, perhaps trying to work out what sexual oddities would be considered strange or taboo in a town like this. But he composes his face and says with all seriousness,

"I can't promise I'll be into it, but I'd like it if you told me anyway."

Cecil looks into Carlos's eyes, always so open and loving. He takes a deep breath but finds that, for all his gift of talking, he struggles for the right words to say this out loud.

"Wel, I . . . I have a particular . . . fondness . . . for a certain part of you." Cecil stammers, blushing crimson.

Carlos squeezes Cecil's hand and has to prompt when Cecil doesn't continue.

"What part is that?"

Cecil takes a breath.

". . . your stomach."

Silence.

Carlos's grip on Cecil's hand slackens, and the pit of Cecil's own stomach drops.

". . . my stomach?"

Cecil immediately launches into apologies.

"I'm sorry, I know how you feel about it. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, that's why I never mentioned it before. I'm so sorry, Carlos, I shouldn't have said anything."

"Oh," is all Carlos can think of to say.

"You're not mad, are you?" Cecil asks.

"No. No, I . . . I guess that wasn't what I was expecting to hear. I'm, uh, not used to people liking that part of me. It's kind of a sore subject, you know?"

"I know," Cecil says, squeezing Carlos's hand. "And you know I think you're perfect and handsome no matter how you look. I'm not asking for anything. But you were curious, and . . . I thought you should know."

He brings Carlos's hand to his lips and kisses the knuckles.

"I don't expect anything," Cecil says.

"Just . . . give me some time, okay?"

"Okay."

 

Two weeks pass without Carlos saying a word or even alluding to Cecil's confession, and Cecil considers the matter firmly closed. He sorts through the unresolved emotions as best he can, and he is surprised to find disappointment among them.

 

A week later, they are sitting on the couch in Cecil's living room, watching a documentary about desert wildlife, which is interspersed with brief bursts of sentient static. Cecil is curled up next to Carlos, his head resting on Carlos' shoulder and one hand set lightly on top of Carlos's leg.

There is a break in the documentary that is filled with the chatter of static, and when Cecil shifts to better position himself, Carlos reaches out and places the hand that Cecil has on his thigh to rest instead on his stomach. Carlos returns his own hand to gently carding through Cecil's hair without saying a word. Cecil murmurs a surprised "oh!" and raises his head to look up at Carlos, seeking confirmation with his eyes. Carlos just hums.

The documentary returns, and Cecil puts his head back on Carlos's shoulder. At first he just allows his hand to lie there, soaking in the warmth that seeps through the thin fabric of the graphic tee Carlos is wearing. How long he's wanted to do this, how long he's admired in silence. Slowly, he begins to rub small circles against the ample flesh. Already Cecil's breath is coming faster, and he asks, his voice soft because he doesn't want to break the moment,

"Is this okay?"

"Mm-hm," is all Carlos replies with. The hand in Cecil's hair moves down to the back of his neck where Carlos's thumb swipes soothingly back and forth.

The fabric of Carlos's shirt bunches between Cecil's fingers. When Cecil goes to smooth it out, Carlos intercepts and instead pulls the hem of his shirt up, revealing his naked belly to Cecil's exploring fingers.

"Oh, Carlos, my perfect, beautiful Carlos," Cecil groans, his fingertips just barely grazing the flesh.

He lightly runs his fingers through the hair just beneath Carlos's navel and feels the swell of him there. Cecil turns his head to kiss Carlos's shoulder and gently squeezes the thickest part of his stomach. They remain that way for a while, Carlos humming his approval as Cecil continues to rub circles against his stomach, sometimes stopping to knead the side gently. The documentary is over, and the television has been broadcasting pink noise for the past five minutes, but neither seem to notice.

Slowly, Cecil shifts, lowering himself to the floor and positioning himself so that he is kneeling between Carlos's legs, both hands now splayed against his girth.

Cecil is looking up at him with such adoration that when Cecil asks if he is okay Carlos can only nod.

The kiss that Cecil places on his stomach makes Carlos blush. Once more Cecil's fingers are gently exploring, cupping him and feeling the firmness beneath the layer of soft, giving flesh. Cecil is entranced by the way the button on Carlos's jeans strains just so against his stomach, and he wants nothing more than to undo the button to give Carlos more room, to watch his generous belly slide forward when it is released. But he doesn't want to push the boundaries of this - not when Carlos is already giving him so much. 

He settles instead with pressing kisses along the apex of Carlos's stomach. When he reaches Carlos's belly button, Cecil briefly dips his tongue inside, and Carlos laughs at the sensation,

"That tickles, Cecil!"

But when Cecil looks up at him, cheeks flushed dark and eyes half-lidded, the laughter sputters out in his throat.

"Oh. So you - you really like this?"

Cecil nods, and there's a dry click as he swallows. "You're gorgeous, Carlos."

Cecil's voice is in its lowest register, and Carlos can practically feel the words vibrating through his body. 

"Oh god, Cecil, come here," and Carlos pulls Cecil up into a kiss. 

Their lips meet, Cecil groaning, his hands still stroking Carlos's stomach reverently. Carlos grabs Cecil's hips and drags him onto his lap, where he pulls him forward so that Cecil's groin drags against the swell of his belly. The moan that follows is pitched so low it sounds as if the ground is cracking open.

It only takes one, two more slow drags before Cecil is groaning Carlos's name and burying his head against Carlos's neck. Carlos holds him as he shudders.

"Carlos . . ."

Cecil slumps against him, and Carlos runs his hands along Cecil's back.

"That was . . . intense," Carlos says at last.

Cecil sighs against Carlos's neck, "You have no idea how long I've been imagining doing that, and finally getting the chance to . . . well."

Carlos only nods. He can feel the damp patch of Cecil's pants pressing against his stomach.

"Do you want me to, um . . . ?" Cecil straightens up, and his eyes dart briefly down Carlos's body.

"No, it's okay. This - this was just for you."

Cecil beams, "Oh, Carlos - you're perfect, no matter what you look like you're perfect and gorgeous and handsome and _you_."

"You just happen to _really_ like my stomach."

Cecil tints pink and averts his eyes, "I do."

Carlos pulls him close and hugs him, "I think I can be okay with that."


End file.
